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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27871082">Incarnations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyInferno/pseuds/TrashyInferno'>TrashyInferno</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Incarnations-verse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Kidnapping, Panic Attacks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:49:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,722</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27871082</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyInferno/pseuds/TrashyInferno</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS FOR 8.4 "Fault"</p><p>Oscar has never seen Ozpin. Even so, he knows without a doubt that this is the man he's been hearing in his head for almost a year.</p><p>***</p><p>Or, in the aftermath, Oscar retreats into his mind where he meets some... interesting new people.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ozma &amp; Oscar Pine, Ozpin &amp; Oscar Pine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Incarnations-verse [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042128</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Incarnations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have so much writing that I'm trying to do right now and I really don't have time to be writing a one-shot, but... Well, my sister decided to binge-watch RWBY from the beginning this week and I couldn't help but watch with her. I grew very attached to Oscar very quickly so "Fault", which I only watched yesterday, just about tore out my heart and stomped on it. So I wrote something about Oscar getting comfort/hope because hey, I needed it.</p><p>Trigger warning for the panic attack. If you don't want to read it, I would suggest stopping at "The rest of the girl bursts into ashes" and coming back around "His eyes slowly open and meet the woman's..." (I hope that's a good cut, anyway.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Oscar…</em>
</p><p>He groans and crosses his arms over his eyes to shield them against the brightness. Maybe if he ignores the voice, it’ll take the hint and leave him alone.</p><p>
  <em>Oscar.</em>
</p><p>He’s not ready to wake up, yet. Not if he’s going to have to face blood-red prison bars and Hazel’s fists.</p><p>“Oscar, please.”</p><p>He sighs and slowly slides his arms off of his eyes and down to his sides. His eyes crack open, and he’s surprised to find that he’s in his loft back home. A wave of homesickness washes over him. He takes a moment to finger the quilt on his bed – exactly as he remembers it – before lifting his eyes to meet the speaker’s.</p><p>A man sits atop his trunk on the opposite side of the room, his black coat folded neatly next to him. His shirt and vest cover his torso in green – <em>he’s grown quite fond of green lately</em> – and Long Memory rests on his lap. A pair of glasses that look far too small to be effective sit on his nose. There’s a sad look in his eyes as they roam over Oscar’s body worriedly.</p><p>Oscar has never <em>seen </em>Ozpin. Even so, he knows without a doubt that this is the man he’s been hearing in his head for almost a year.</p><p>“We’re going to be okay?” he says ruefully, biting back a bitter laugh as the rhetorical question cuts through the tense air. “Really?” Oscar can’t help the bitterness in his voice. He knows it isn’t entirely Ozpin’s fault that he’s… <em>What is he talking about?</em> Of course, it’s all his fault. Him and his stupid mission and his lies and – <strong><em>Everything that follows? Will be for my sister.</em></strong></p><p>Yeah, that too.</p><p>Ozpin’s expression doesn’t waver. “I wasn’t lying. We <em>are </em>going to be okay,” he says.</p><p>“How?” Oscar practically spits the word in Ozpin’s face.</p><p>How. That’s the word they’ve been pondering for some time now.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>How do I defeat Salem?</em> </strong>
</p><p>Their greatest failure.</p><p>“I’m not sure what you mean,” Ozpin replies softly.</p><p>Oscar feels something inside him snap. “<em>How</em> is everything going to be okay?” he shouts. It’s like all of his frustration, anger, and <em>shame</em> has finally burst through the barricade he’d placed in his mind in Atlas.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>So small, this new host of yours. It’s a wonder my hound didn’t break you.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>(Everything hurts, somewhere outside of this place. He can feel the pain appear like a ghost – pressing against his shoulder, twinging in his ribs, aching in his legs – and then disappear as quickly as it comes. Her hound didn’t break him.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hazel did.)</strong>
</p><p>Ozpin doesn’t answer. He merely stares at Oscar with the same mix of worry and pity he’s had since the beginning of this… whatever this is.</p><p>It doesn’t do much to placate him. “Am I ever going to get a straight answer from you? Don’t I deserve that much?” Oscar shouts. He squeezes his eyes shut and clutches at his head as a new wave of pain washes over him. He hates himself for trembling as it subsides – he should be stronger than this. He can’t… He can’t.</p><p>He can’t do this.</p><p>“Oscar.”</p><p>Not right now.</p><p>“<em>Oscar</em>.”</p><p>Oscar doesn’t move. “I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he murmurs.</p><p>He waits for an answer or some wry remark about how they’re stuck with each other, but it doesn’t come. He sighs and allows himself to relax just a bit. He drops his hands back onto the bed and hunches over so that he’s looking at the floor. He’s not ready to look at Ozpin just yet.</p><p>“You know, I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now. It’s been a long time since we’ve gone into someone so young.”</p><p>The voice is feminine, and it isn’t one he recognizes. His eyes snap from the floor to find its source.</p><p>Ozpin is gone. A girl, probably as young as him, has replaced him on the trunk. The light from his window catches on the clockwork brooch on her shoulder that keeps her verdant cape in place. Gleaming bronze armor covers her chest. Matching braces protect her wrists and shins. The frayed ends of her white tunic peek out from beneath her armor and contrast against her tight black pants. A pair of green boots rest on the floor in front of her so that her dark feet remain bare. Her long black hair drapes over her left shoulder and frames the base of her neck.</p><p>She has a wild grin on her face; her eyes shine. Long Memory in its extended form leans against the trunk.</p><p>The surprise must be evident on his face because the girl laughs. It isn’t a mean laugh, at least, it doesn’t feel that way.</p><p>“What, did you think you were the <em>youngest</em> of us?” she teases. She leans forward ever so slightly. “Nope. That was me,” she proclaims with a quick wave, “Oswin Laurel. Nice to meet you, Oscar.”</p><p>Oscar blinks. “Um, no. That’s not it,” he says, shaking his head. “I didn’t think you could… come out?” He cringes as the words tumble out of his mouth. They don’t sound right, but he’s not really sure what to say.</p><p>Oswin’s grin fades into a grim line. “Normally, we can’t. Not unless you call for us.” She pauses as if she were waiting for some form of acknowledgement. Her eyebrow raises when he doesn’t respond. “Ozpin didn’t tell you,” she says softly.</p><p>Oscar knows that he shouldn’t be ashamed, but in this moment, he can’t help but lower his gaze. <strong><em>I… that’s not something I know about. </em></strong>“He… doesn’t tell me a lot of things.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Do you have a plan?</em> </strong>
</p><p>Oswin winces. Her expression softens into a pitying look. “Ozpin’s always been one of the more… secretive of us.” She shakes her head and huffs. “For better or for worse.”</p><p>“So, if I didn’t call you,” Oscar asks, “how are you here? And where is here, exactly?”</p><p>The girl’s grin returns. “Well, <em>here</em> is your mindscape,” she explains. She runs her hand along the trunk’s surface. “It’s cozy.” She taps her chin and smiles brightly. “I like it.”</p><p>After having Ozpin and his half-truths in his head for so long, he’s almost in shock at how bluntly she’s explaining things. He can’t decide if it’s refreshing or terrifying.</p><p>Considering the fact that it took Salem’s lightshow and Hazel’s fists to get here, he’s leaning more toward terrifying.</p><p>“As for how I got here,” the girl says, pushing herself off the trunk in a smooth movement, “my guess is Ozpin called for me. You said you didn’t want to talk to him, right? He probably thought you’d like me better.” She approaches him and leans forward so that their noses are almost touching. “Is it working?” she asks with a smirk.</p><p>Oscar scrambles backward at the intrusion. “I-I uh,” he manages to stutter out, “I’m not really sure at the moment.”</p><p>She frowns. <strong><em>His – her friend rolls his eyes and pushes her backward with a finger on her forehead.</em></strong> “Get surer,” she chides as she pulls back to give him more space. “Indecision makes for bad decision making.” <strong><em>He – she – they pause for just a second, but it’s enough. Their friend, their </em>Brio, <em>sends the knife straight through their unprotected stomach. They don’t see it, but they feel it. They feel it as they die.</em></strong></p><p>“Maybe I’m not the right one for you right now,” she says thoughtfully. “That old coot and I never saw eye to eye, but…” She glances at him and sighs. “I’m never going to live this down.” Her legs begin dissolving into ashes. “You’d better appreciate this, kid,” Oswin remarks with a wry smile.</p><p>The rest of the girl bursts into ashes. They swirl around the room as if blown by an invisible wind before reforming into a new, bulkier, silhouette. The shape glows softly, and a man appears.</p><p>He’s not as old as Oscar was expecting. The man is probably around Ozpin’s age, but unlike willowy Oswin or the subtle strength of Ozpin, he’s large and exerts dominating presence.</p><p>Oscar can’t help but flinch as the man’s shadow engulfs him.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Hazel?</em> </strong>
</p><p>Oscar lowers his gaze. “C-can you move back a bit,” he stammers. His heart pounds in his throat as the shadow moves.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Wait, wait!</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Please?”</p><p>“That girl should not have come as close as she did,” a new voice rumbles. It’s a deep and crackly voice, like it isn’t one that is used very often. “She never <em>did </em>have any sense of boundaries.”</p><p>Oscar brings his eyes up slowly. His heavy heartbeats begin to slow to a more comfortable heartbeat as he takes in a man who is <em>not Hazel. </em>It’s not him. <em>Not him.</em></p><p>For one thing, the boots are all wrong. Hazel’s are brown leather with steel tips. He’d recognize them anywhere. He’s had enough time to get acquainted with them lately.</p><p>
  <strong>(Elsewhere, it’s difficult to breathe without jostling the ribs that he <em>knows </em>are broken.)</strong>
</p><p>Instead, the boots he sees are made entirely of polished steel. The difference is stark enough that he feels more comfortable letting his eyes climb higher. A steel breastplate gleams in the soft light from the window. He’s tucked his olive loose-fitted pants into the tops of his boots to create a polished silhouette. A set of steel pauldrons rest on his shoulders. The surface of the left contains an olive clockwork gear.</p><p>Long Memory in its compact form rests flush against the inside of the man’s right forearm.</p><p>Oscar steadies his breathing and allows himself to take in the full figure of the previous incarnation standing before him. He’s completely too big for Oscar’s tiny loft – in fact, his cropped hair brushes against the ceiling. The man looks incredibly cramped in the small space, and a hefty frown rests on his face.</p><p>“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asks. The man looks as if he’s at a loss.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>He – They shift uncomfortably as the voice in their head tries to talk them through this bit. They are not good at speaking to people. Attempting to inspire others? Even worse.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Oscar gets the feeling that this man isn’t used to dealing with teenagers. “A bit,” he admits, ducking his head slightly. “It isn’t your fault.”</p><p>The man’s frown fades. The lost look slowly changes into one of understanding. “Perhaps an introduction might help. I am Ozel Fern.”</p><p>Oscar can’t help the small whimper that escapes him when Ozel thrusts out a hand for him to shake. It’s too much. Too close.</p><p>
  <strong><em>He thrusts a hand in front of himself as if it will save him from what he knows is coming. The voices in his head </em>scream <em>danger. He wants to shout them down because he knows – he </em>knows he’s in danger <em>but there’s nothing he can do right now except hold a measly little hand before a giant.</em></strong>
</p><p>His heartbeat drums in his ears.</p><p><strong> <em>A hand that’s knocked away like it’s nothing.</em> </strong> <strong>  </strong></p><p>Too much. Too close. Get away get away get away GET AWAY GET AWAY.</p><p>
  <strong><em>Like </em>he’s <em>nothing.</em></strong>
</p><p>“Oscar!” a voice calls from a distance. Rough – no, gentle – hands rest on his shoulders. “I need you to breathe with me, hon. We’re gonna time it.”</p><p>The hands squeeze him gently. “One, two, three, breathe in,” the voice says softly. There’s the audible sound of someone sucking in air. “Okay,” she says, “now breathe out.” Warm breath ruffles his hair. Is he following her? He thinks so.</p><p>The drumbeats in his ears fade into nothing.</p><p>“Breathe in.”</p><p>He’s shaking. How long has he been shaking?</p><p>“Breath out.”</p><p>His eyes slowly open and meet the woman’s – <em>Woman? Where’s Ozel? – </em>pale blue irises. She pulls away and smiles sadly. “Sorry about Ozel. He’s not the best in delicate situations,” she says. “Oscar? Is it alright if I hug you?”</p><p>Oscar nods mutely. He doesn’t trust himself to speak as she wraps her arms around him. It’s warm and soothing, and for a moment, Oscar remembers a better time in Argus that feels like it was a lifetime ago.</p><p>It’s enough to tip him over the edge. Warm wetness trickles down his cheeks before he realizes that he’s openly sobbing, his hands grasping at the woman like she’s his lifeline.</p><p><em>At this point</em>, he supposes, <em>she is.</em></p><p>“Oh, hon,” she whispers, squeezing him gently, “I’m so, so sorry.” Her hand rubs up and down his back in a soothing gesture. “We didn’t want this for you.”</p><p>They stay like that for a while until Oscar’s tears dry and his breathing returns to normal. As if she can feel his need for space, the woman finally releases him and retreats to the chest on the other side of the room. She opens her mouth to say something, but she closes it and shakes her head.</p><p>Oscar isn’t sure how he does it, but he manages to find his voice again. “T-thank you,” he says. He wants to say more. He does. But he’s at a loss for words here.</p><p>“I’m Ozia Myrtle,” she says gently, “and you’re welcome.”</p><p>He nods. “What did you mean when you said, ‘We didn’t want this for you’?” he can’t help but ask.</p><p>The woman smiles softly. “Oscar, you’re one of the weakest incarnations we’ve had,” she says.</p><p>Oscar slumps where he’s sitting. After that display, he can understand why she might think that.</p><p>She tsks him. “Let me finish,” she says. “Ozel and Ozwin were warriors before they became Ozma’s new vessels. There are many others just like them.” Her smile returns, but it’s faint. “Then there’s the vessels like you and me who weren’t great fighters in the beginning.” She smooths her hands over her pale green dress. Unlike the others, Long Memory is nowhere to be found.</p><p>“You’re only weak because you haven’t had the chance to grow,” she says softly. “You were reborn into war. Most of us, Ozpin included, used the Academies as safe havens while we recovered. We had huntsman and huntresses all around us, guiding and shaping our education with all the time that we needed.”</p><p>She sighs and puts a hand to her head. “You didn’t get that luxury.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>She – he – they startle from the bed. A rough hand clutches theirs. “Ozia? Are you alright?” their husband whispers in the darkness.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“I-I’m fine,” they reply.</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Neither did I.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>They stare down the Grimm. It’s huge, and without a weapon or training…</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ozia, I’m so sorry.</strong>
</p><p>“But you,” she says softly, “aren’t me. You’re stronger. So much stronger.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I’m sorry the reunion isn’t living up to your expectations.</em> </strong>
</p><p>A bright light fills the room, and then it’s Oswin sitting on top of his trunk. She grins at him. “You’re smarter. Much, much smarter.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Keeping our humanity. It’s what makes us different from her.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Another flash. Ozel’s form appears once more. The man shakes his head. “You’re kinder.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I do know that I want to do everything I can to help with whatever time I have left.</em> </strong>
</p><p>“And you have a greater understanding of people than a man three times your age.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>She made a choice! A choice to put others before herself! So do I.</em> </strong>
</p><p>There’s another flash. “You’re also much wiser,” the voice of Ozpin says before he appears.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I think the best thing you could do is sit down and talk with the people you’re most afraid to.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Oscar can’t help but stare as Ozpin stands in the middle of the room. The man is drawn up so that he seems impossibly tall. His – <em>their </em>– cane is clutched in his hands in a manner that’s incredibly familiar.</p><p>“You are the best of us, Oscar,” he says with his face set in a determined frown. His voice doesn’t quite sound like he remembers it. It’s deeper and richer. There’s more gravitas in it than he’s ever heard before, even when Ozpin is in his “Headmaster of Beacon Academy” mode.</p><p>For a moment, just a tiny moment, Ozpin’s form flickers. Oscar’s eyes widen as he recognizes cocoa brown hair and deep brown eyes. Tanned skin replaces Ozpin’s paleness, and a teal tunic briefly flashes where Ozpin’s dark green should have been.</p><p>“And you are <em>not dying here</em>,” Ozma says, slamming Long Memory against the floorboards.</p>
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